We awakened before dawn, when the sky was still
That rosy dove-feather grey, and began to notice
A presence, which — or should we say who? —
Despite our grogginess, began spreading her light
From the center of our heads, her voice mouthlessly
Whispering: “The soul is simultaneous with the sky.”
Then sleep overtook us, but not the usual sleep,
This was a graduating trip to another realm
Where we sensed completion, although we were
Still trying to gather useless relics for our journey
When the day surprised us, and we awakened
To that vigorous blue ubiquity and heard the voice
Again, but now distinctly round, and masculine:
“The sky is simultaneous with time.”
Our skin turned gold and the light inside our heads
Became the sun. Everywhere within our bodies, now,
We could feel them, be them: the birds,
The trees, the houses, the moving waters,
The people in their ceaseless conflagrations.
The rosebuds exploded into roses and blanketed
Runways of petals beneath our steps,
While herds of animals migrated through our bones.
And now — oh word of origin, word of flagrant bliss —
Her voice and his, in sonorous unison,
Sang with a single tone, that strange word: “Home.”